


Moment by Moment

by cannedpeaches



Series: All Roads Lead Me to This Place [2]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannedpeaches/pseuds/cannedpeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he looks back on it, Joel sees that it started with small things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment by Moment

i.

When he looks back on it, Joel sees that it started with small things.

His hands shaking as he loaded the revolver he kept in his office, the gun he hoped he’d never have to use, Sarah hovering behind him, her voice high and scared, the flinch in her body as he pulled her away from the sliding glass door, the quaking in her limbs as he pulled the trigger, the first time he had ever truly frightened her.

The family and Tommy left on the side of the rode as they drove to the highway on the night of the outbreak, his immediate reaction -- _every bastard for himself out here_ \-- the sick rush of guilt pooling in his stomach at his own thoughts, a warning of things to come, even if he didn’t know it yet -- _what the fuck has gotten into me?_

His baby girl’s broken body, her tears, her cries, the blood spreading over the front of her shirt -- _why is there so goddamn much of it_ \-- the pain he was causing her even as he held her cradled in his arms, the safest place he knew for her, the only safe place he knew of now, the silence, the emptiness in her blue eyes.

The hard kick of a rifle against his shoulder as he sniped stragglers wandering through what was supposed to be the St. Louis QZ, the clap of Bart’s hand on his shoulder signifying a job well done, the warmth of the woman’s body as he checked her pockets, the pictures of a little girl he found in her pack that almost made him retch.

His knuckles blooming with pain as they made contact with Tommy’s cheek, the crack of bone on bone like a gunshot in their tiny apartment, the splash of red on Tommy’s face before his hand went up to clutch at the wound, the words that fell out of his mouth -- _I never want to see your goddamned face again_ \-- before he pushed his way to the front door, never to return.

The satisfying snap Robert’s arm made when he broke it, the move practiced and easy from years of torturing tourists for information, the fracture a descendant of so many that came before it at his hands, Robert’s shout and Tess’s nod of approval the signs of a job well done.

 

 

ii.

When he looks back on it, Joel sees that it started with small things.

The wet noise she made with her mouth the first time she tried to whistle, scaring the living shit out of him -- _what if I had shivved her?_ \-- the sound beginning to grate on him as he searched the house, following him down dark hallways that twisted and turned and ended in Sarah’s bedroom, that ended with an ache in his heart that he thought he had buried.

His lungs filling with brackish water as the hunter held his head under the water, the muffled _bang_ of gunfire somewhere above him, the relief of air pushing into his lungs as he stood, free and sputtering, only to be hit once again by a wave of shock at the sight of her, a gun clutched in her small hands, how horribly _wrong_ this was to him, because _I’m supposed to protect her._

The way she holds her own, against infected and humans alike, fearless, wild, _brave_ , running up and _stabstabstabbing_ with her knife like her left depends on it, because it does, because his life does -- “Get away from him, motherfucker!” -- because she is protecting him as much as he is being paid to protect her -- _how many close calls have we had?_

His chest caving in around his heart as he says words he’s sure he means -- _You’re not my daughter, and I sure as hell ain’t your dad_ \-- he’s so sure, he’s so certain, except that it hurts more than any bullet wound ever has, the way she fights to keep her face from crumpling, the heavy sag in her shoulders like he has given her some terrible weight to bear, one that she doesn’t own and that he has no right to give away.

The silence in the winter, the way she can’t convey what’s happened to her in words, the things she did for him, the things that were done to her, the absence of her laughter sucking all the air out of any place they go, the quiet just as biting as that moment, twenty years ago, when he was met with another wordless girl with blank eyes, and he knows now what he knew then: He would do anything to make her smile, make her laugh again, make her safe _\-- I swear_.

The lie, the lie, the lie.

The hope.

 _Please_.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of crap, but I had a lot of ideas bouncing around that I just wanted to get out of me. No idea if I’ll flesh this out in the future -- mostly the two bits that cover the time between Sarah’s death and the beginning of the game -- but you never know.


End file.
